I woke with a dull ache in my head I attributed to a hangover. I slowly untangled myself from my plethora of blankets that enshrouded me. The hilt of my long-sword jabbed painfully into my side for It seemed I had laid down to sleep fully clothed, without even removing my sword-belt. I was still deep in a half-asleep stupor as I made to leave my tent seeking the water the would sate my dry mouth and help quench the pounding in my head. As I stumbled through the flap of my tent, my shin connected heavily with something. My body's impact with the ground shocked me fully awake. I not so gracefully stood up and took a moment for my sense of balance to realign with the ground. I eyed my offender, the sleeping form of a Wolf-Kin curled up and completely undisturbed in his sleep. The red tail, with its uniquely fluffy white tip, that lie across his form sent last night's recollections racing into my mind. How did Eli end up outside my tent? A question I had no obvious answer for. I sighed before seizing the empty water-skein that lay near him.

I made my way towards the supply wagon. It's seemed for once I had awoken at a decent time as the other members of our camp shifted about in the early morning light, tending morning meals on their campfires. The smell of which caused my stomach to shift and squirm bringing forth a sense of nausea. I cradled my stomach as I approached the supply wagons. I located the one that held our water supply, I uncorked a barrel my firm figure aiding me to slowly tilt it over, despite the poor condition of my body. The sudden spouting of a loud garbled voice caused the pain in my head to spike. Water sloshed over my boots as I shifted the weight of the water barrel to my shoulder freeing my hand to cradle my head. The presence of the figure shifted uncomfortably closer as a disfigured hand grabbed the lip of the barrel. The sight of which unsettled my stomach further as the figure I now recognized as Darington, by his missing fingers, took the water-skein from my free hand. He refilled it for me, then showed surprising strength for his age, as he pushed the still nearly full barrel back upright with one hand. The old veteran mumbled some more nonsense with a softer tone as he handed me the now full water-skein. I nodded not sure how to reply, but he seemed satisfied with that and departed, briefly sorting through the contents of other wagons as he went.

I returned to my own tent, noticing that Eli had vacated his position of an impromptu doormat, now nowhere to be seen. I had finished off the contents of the water-skein before even making it halfway back through camp. I decided to keep it for now fastening along my sword-belt, as I slipped through the opening of my tent. Slipping my arms out of the sleeves of my jacket, I let the top half dangle, shirking the need to completely remove it and my sword belt. I pulled the long sleeved shirt over my head, stretching the lacerations on my shoulders, eliciting a light burning sensation. The smell of spilled ale and a hint of vomit passed through my nose as the slightly damp material dragged over my face. I undid the wrappings of my chest and applied Simone's remedies to my various cuts and lashes, which seemed to be healing healthily, if not slowly. Without re-wrapping my chest, I donned a tribal looking leather vest that fastened together in the front with several various laces. A little revealing, as it only covered my chest and upper back, I omitted wearing a shirt underneath as I normally would. I wanted my wounds to have space and fresh air to heal, and my soft fur-lined jacket would mostly cover me, while only being a light burden to my shoulders. I made a mental note while I slid my arms back through its sleeves. I'd have to shirk my shoulders out of it occasionally to prevent the fur from grafting into the cracked scabs.

I rubbed at my face and neck with a course dry cloth, my pale skin growing red and slightly irritated as I cleansed myself of the accumulated grime and sweat. I pulled at the loose ends of the leather strap in my hair, freeing it, before running a comb through my hair. I took my time picking at a few knots and the many clumps of mud.

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Finally, with a presentable appearance, I shrugged my shoulders out of my jacket, giving them a few minutes of air, as I collected my various possessions and rolled up my ensemble of blankets. I tucked my shoulders back into my jacket as I stepped out of my tent as I began breaking it down and packing my things away into my saddle bags. I made my second trip of the morning. This time among many of the other Long-Riders, as we all sought to stow away our gear amid the horses and supply wagons. I somehow avoided another encounter with Darington this time around. Noticing Luke's horse was absent, I mounted my mare, and rode towards the road. Luke sat atop his horse, patiently waiting at the forefront of other early risers. He greeted me with a raised eyebrow and his usual smirk. We waited for the rest of the Long-Riders to fall into the formation in silence, neither willing to interrupt the morning stillness. Marion soon joined us atop her own imposing dark gray warhorse. She looked far more refreshed as I, which grew more apparent as the morning breeze brought a light smell of soaps and peaches amid the normal stench of horses from her direction.

Her chipper voice broke the comfortable silence to my dissatisfaction. "The rest of the troop shall be ready shortly Captain. We're only waiting for Sergeant Darington to bring around the supply wagons. He should be here shortly."

"Be at ease Marion. We're still easily with'in schedule."

The silence began anew, but this time a tension filled the air. Marion seemed to be glaring a hole into Luke's face. Probably upset Luke left her behind last night, coupled with his late return. Well, at least that's what I thought, until I realized that she was looking past Luke, her gaze directed at me. I sighed heavily, I had no intention of trying to rationalize whatever convoluted thought process led her to believe I was at fault for whatever wrongdoing she perceived. While my recollections of last night were spotty at best, I knew from prior experience, that just meant I had passed out, likely face down into the bar.  Luke had once likened my drinking habits to a badger eating a particularly venomous snake. Chewing it apart lavishly, then slumping over to sleep. Once its body overcame the toxins, continuing its voracious eating as soon as it awakened, in a cycle that could last days.

I reigned in another sigh. The procession of wagons had finally started moving down the hill, their coachmen aligning them in a neat row behind our formation. 

Luke waved his arm once, moving his arm along a wide, overhead half circle, "LONG-RIDERS.... FORWARD.... MARCH!" The whole procession moving at once on his signal. 

The nest two days were a monotony of travel and camping, of which I spent most of my spare time chasing rumors concerning Marion and some of the other female Long-Riders of sequestering a wash tub that they then used regularly around the camp. Despite questioning almost every female within our contingent, I had found no evidence. After being fed many similar lines, and seeing some ill attempts of feigned ignorance, I began to see Marion's vengeful hand at work. As to what she thought she was avenging... I was still clueless.  I had begun to admire her cunning though. 

On the third morning, however, I was stirred awake by the sounds of shouting and the jangling armor of others running past my tent. I shot up to my feet, then proceeded to strap my shield to my arm, I grabbed my sword around its sheath with my shield arm, using my right to try to fasten the straps of my ravaged chest plate. I made it two steps out of my tent, enough to feel the chill morning air, before a heavy, full bodied blow knocked me clean off my feet. A metal covered limb connected solidly with my shin. I reacted on instinct twisting myself to the top of the tangle of limbs. In an instant, I freed my sword-arm, able to partially unsheathe the blade and angle it against the offender's throat.   I glanced towards the face I was a moment away from relieving of its body.